Yesterday my bestie would have been 55. Now I’m doing that thing. Counting on years to those who have left. She wasn’t 55 she won’t be 56 etc so is there any point in trying to drag the dead along with us numerically?
It’s almost five months since she died! I can’t stand that. How can that much time have passed. It’s still so desperately raw I want to scream so she hears me.
I remember the last time I spoke to her, ending the call with ‘love you’. She couldn’t say ‘I love you’. There was a pause, she tried, but she couldn’t say it. We’d talked about that many times – how she couldn’t say it to her children even despite feeling bucket loads of it. She thought it was her stiff upper lip British childhood. I knew it anyway. I’ve replayed her actual goodbye in my head so many times – the last time I saw her she knew it would be, and gave it all she had. I didn’t know it but turned on her stairs to wave, and heard it in her voice. ‘Goodbye my DEAR friend’.
I just want to hear that again, anything, anything at all.
I made all sorts of mental notes to do things better, differently, just do things! when she died. I’m no closer and I don’t know how to get there. For now I look after mother, go to work, worry about daughter. I’m tired and I miss you very much Al. I’m not honouring your life and wonderful, joyful spirit by shining.
Grandfather time plays cruel games, randomly plucking off those much loved while leaving others to wither slowly. What is my lesson in all this?
grandfather time plays
cruel games of random plucking
leaves others mourning
aged mother barely moves
daytime television blasts
on the middle path
we are where we’re meant to be
what is my lesson?
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